My Hellhound
by CeCe Away
Summary: Hot breath blew the hair up off his neck. Hellhound. Out of everything in the pit, he hated them the most. Hurt!Sam Heroic!Protective!Dean to the Rescue.
1. Hellhound

This is my version of what Sam's time in hell could have been like, and what happens after he gets out. Even though I've already written a story about Sam getting out of hell (Body and Soul .net/s/6098119/1/Body_and_Soul ) that I'm really happy with, I wanted to play around with not just how hell affected Sam, but how Sam could affect hell, which meant an entirely new premise for how he'd bust out from what I've already written. They're entirely different, but neither one will be how Gamble will do it anyway, so I plead creative license or would if I had any license over the guys, which I don't so . . . whatev . . . I own nothing, except my personal right to amuse myself with different scenarios. This will be longer than what I usually do in fanfic, but not to worry I know where I'm going start to finish. Count on a lot of angst, a lot of hurt Sammy and to the rescue Dean.

CeCe Away

#

My Hellhound

Samuel Winchester prowled the labyrinth of hell, studying every tunnel, every street, every hole. No longer in need of a vessel, Lucifer had vacated Sam's body and placed him immediately on the rack. Lucifer was livid at being trapped within the pit again. Yes, he had the reign of hell, but the tangible bonds of the pit, made Lucifer's hell a prison within a prison, stiff and unyielding. He'd taken it out on the one person who had sent him back, pound for pound, for months until that hatred no longer sustained him.

The irony was Lucifer admired Samuel Winchester, didn't have the heart to see the young man fully broken under his hand. Except for Michael himself, Samuel Winchester was the only person who had bested him—a mere mortal at that. Lucifer thought about that often. What a rare and peculiar soul the young man was. So he let him off the rack, even gave Sam the one thing he couldn't have for himself: Freedom. Well, a limited sense of freedom. He'd given Samuel the free run of hell, and marveled at the way the residents of pit followed the boy around, drawn to his aura.

Samuel Winchester was an oddity in hell. As the only person there who wasn't actually dead, the only person who retained his physical mortal body, Sam was a beacon of light, a curiosity that drew demons. Many wanted to test their skill against the boy who brought down the master and Lucifer indulged the blood lust, allowing Sam to be beaten and broken to the point of unconsciousness. But only to that point, after all, he only wanted to see if another could break Sam's mind in the demons ongoing establishment of their futile pecking order.

But there were other demons who followed Sam with an odd light in their eyes, watching him, waiting to see what would happen, but never laying a hand against him. These demons and the thought of what they may want made Lucifer uncomfortable.

#

Sam couldn't believe he had found it. He stared up at the long, long silo-like tunnel over his head that ended with the underside of what looked like the back of an intricate man-hole cover. The tunnel sides were smooth, there was no ladder. Even if there was, Sam knew there was no going out for him, but just being there, beneath the same hell's gate his father had escaped from, made him smile.

"Your lunch, kid." Traff blinked in so abruptly it startled Sam, causing him to take a step back. The tiny demon held out a brown bag with a Sally's Diner logo across it.

Sam's eyebrows rose. "Chicken sandwich?"

"Your favorite." Traff handed Sam the bag and they both sat down. Traff was one of the few demons who had found his way out through the narrow slashes in hell, yet choose to return. He'd become Sam's procurer of food, seeming to be fascinated with watching him eat. Guess the simple pleasure of being able to enjoy a meal was a big thrill for the guy, even if he wasn't the one eating. Sam didn't mind, he actually liked Traff, and the guy was an awesome source of information, he knew the insides of hell better than anyone.

Sam had quickly discovered that all demons were not of the same caliber. There were some like Traff who were able to hold off the whittling down of their humanity. Mostly they were guys who had ended up in hell for small crimes or sins made out of love. Traff had bargained his soul so that his family would live through the Civil War. As a result he had spent little time on the rack and most of the other demons found him of little importance to mess with so he'd been pretty much left alone.

But he hadn't left hell alone. Traff had watched, he'd learned. He'd found Sam beaten once and took him to his own space, a carved out niche where Sam could rest and recover. When Sam awoke, Traff showed him how to carve out symbols that not only kept out other demons, but hid the area as well. Sam had immediately made his own space, his own hole within a little used tunnel where Sam could rest and regroup.

Together and apart, Sam and Traff explored hell, both eager to learn and share what they discovered. Kindred spirits and like thinkers, they learned just for the sheer love and knowledge. Not that it would do them any good, but it passed the boredom. Traff taught Sam all the spells and incantations he knew. He taught Sam how to forge blades in the lowest fires to make demon killing weapons like the knife Ruby had. And while Sam gathered information, he unwittingly made friends. Low caliber demons reveled in giving him information, feeling needed and hopeful for the first time in long centuries. Eager to please, they showed him their own private hells, places Sam would otherwise never know to look. Sam watched what happened to demons who were sent back to hell, how their minds were scattered for months, reducing them to incoherent babblers that the other demons took advantage of. Sam wondered if any of them had been dispatched by Bobby or even Dean, though he hoped his brother was not hunting.

They learned the best methods to kill hellhounds and all the other monsters that roamed the shadows of hell. In hell, they couldn't really die, but it took monsters a hundred years to regenerate and that was all right with him. If Sam had had this knowledge as a hunter, he would have been formidable.

"I found another way out," Traff said. Able to shoot off as black smoke, there were many ways for demons to squeeze back into the world of mortals. Several demons crawled out every day, an ongoing parade. Traff stared at the sandwich in Sam's hands. "This one looks large enough to fit a man." He ducked away, uncertain.

Sam froze mid-bite. A way out for him? His belly clenched and he put the sandwich down, no longer hungry. Even if that were possible, his mind couldn't see it.

He missed Dean. On one of Lucifer's rare giving moments, he taught Sam how to astral project to watch people up top. It wasn't actually getting out, but it was close. The first time, he'd stood beneath a light pole and watched Dean outside of Lisa's house. Dean hadn't exactly looked happy, but he was coping. He'd visited only a few other times. The kid, Ben, followed Dean around like he was superman, copying his gestures, his humor. Dean had actually smiled then and Sam could never bring himself to return. He'd be all right. Sam wondered what getting out of hell would do to Dean. He suspected it would make his brother's fragile house of cards tumble down. No, he wouldn't leave hell, but he also couldn't ignore the hole Traff was talking about.

Pushing the sandwich aside, Sam got up. "Show me."

#

Sam followed Traff through the back edge of hell into little used tunnels smelling of refuse and sulfur. "Here there be monsters," Sam muttered, his shoes slopping through slimy puddles of-whatever. He could think of a million things he might be slogging through, none of them pleasant. The yellow glow off the walls illuminated the black earthen tunnel in jagged streaks.

"In there." Traff pointed to a long crack in the wall, roughly half his height. Traff had already carved runes near it to hide the opening from other demons. Traff was like that, not wanting his exits used so much that they came under Lucifer's notice.

Sam started at it blankly, knowing he'd never be able to fit through there. "You been all the way through yet?"

"Yup. It's not as tight as it appears. We'll have to hammer out the opening a bit."

"Easy to say when you're a puff of smoke." Sam bent to examine the hole, a cold knot forming in his stomach. This might be doable. He could get out as long as Satan didn't come look for him and snatch him back, but with Traff's runes hiding them . . . His heart started hammering. It would take some doing. Who knew how far the hole went, but to get out of hell, he'd climb, claw . . . then, what? Find Dean. Let his brother know he was out, not suffering. He owed him that much, and then they could take it from there. With everything Sam now knew, disappearing would be easy.

"Okay."

"Really?" Traff almost squealed.

Sam grinned. "Are you coming? Gonna stay out this time?"

Traff shrugged. "I might hang around for awhile. See what's what."

"All right, then. Just don't mess with any humans or I'll have to come for you."

Traff laughed at the long standing joke between hunter and demon.

Sam scraped his teeth along his lower lip. "We'll need some kind of hammer . . ." Hot breath blew the hair up off his neck. Hellhound. Out of everything in the pit, he hated them the most. Now that he was part of hell, he could see them clearly, tall, muscled and sleek, dark mouthful of teeth. Any time one was near, all Sam saw was his brother's skin ripping into shreds or Jo's intestines spilling from her stomach.

In the trace of a heartbeat, Sam had his knife out, spun and plunged the blade to the hilt up through the hound's jaw and slashing sideways to hit the artery—the killing blow to the beasts. "See you in a hundred, bitch." Gargling, the beast dropped dead and the tunnel exploded in chaos as two more hounds pounced.

Traff, the coward, dispersed into smoke and fled, leaving Sam to cut, slash, hack until he stood, heaving over two more bodies, bloody and tired, a short jagged slice on his arm. The escape route would have to wait until he took care of this.

Shuffling away, he heard whimpers coming from behind him. Sam stopped, glanced back. A small hellhound sniffed, whining near one of the bodies. Sam had seen them before, young hellhounds, bounding around dark fields of fire pools, still half the size of a full grown man and a hundred times deadlier. Grimacing, Sam turned away only to hear soft footfalls padding behind him.

He looked back and the hound whimpered, tilting its head. A long tongue rolled between wickedly sharp teeth.

"You've got to be kidding." Once again, Sam turned his back, walking determinedly away, grinding his teeth when the footfalls followed. He spun around abruptly, flinging out an arm and the hound skittered back. "Go back. Get out of here!"

The hound whimpered, lowering its head to its paws on the floor. Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "I am the dumbest S.O.B. ever. Come on." The hound jumped up, plodding along in Sam's wake.

TBC


	2. Imp

We all know the drill: Don't own them. Except for Traff I guess. He's all mine, the little demon, but I share.

Chapter 2 Imp

Traff paced outside Sam's personal nook until Sam let him in. "It's gone. Completely obliterated."

"Nice to see you too," Sam said, pushing a bowl of water toward the overgrown puppy.

"Don't you get it? The hole, your way out is gone. It has Lucifer's handiwork written all over it."

Sam shrugged. "Bound to happen. Lucifer knows everything that goes on around here. You think he'd just let me waltz out? Probably watching us right now."

"Well that's awfully resigned of you." Traff sat down on the floor. "You know that's a hellhound, right? They eat demons like me for dinner."

Sam glanced up and smiled. "Aww, this one's just a baby. Could probably only digest a leg or two and you'd grow them back, right?"

"Funny, Winchester."

Sam grinned, watching the puppy roll around on the floor.

"I hear Casey translated that old Babylonian text you've been itching to get your paws on."

"Yeah?" That had Sam's interest. They'd found the old manuscript buried in the tomb of an old demon's personal hell, buried alive with his treasures. Sam had been working on it constantly until Casey showed up, having a knack for the ancient language, once having lived in Babylon, and insisted on helping. Sam had a hard time believing her since he was the one who'd sent her back to hell to begin with, but she'd proven herself a loyal asset. "Okay, let's go. Come on, Imp."

The hellhound bounded up, body shaking, tail wagging.

They only got a little ways into the larger section of tunnels, a crossroads of sorts, when a group of high caliber demons blocked their way.

"Samuel Winchester. The boy who would be our master."

Sam and Traff turned to go back the way they'd come, but were stopped short by a second group of demons. Though they usually wore the faces of who they were as humans, sometimes the masks slipped and Sam could see the ugliness of burned-off humanity underneath and this group—they were ugly S.O.B.s. Sam lifted his hands. "Look, Hazerm, I don't want any trouble."

"You found it anyway. I'm the top dog around here."

"Yeah, I'd say Lucifer might have something to say about that."

"Oh, he does. Word is, anyone who can best you . . . is worthy of standing on Lucifer's right."

The beatings always began like this, and no matter how hard he fought, out-numbered Sam always came out on the losing end.

Sam gave Traff a gentle shove. He knew what was coming, might as well save the little guy the humiliation of running away on his own.

"Sorry, Sam," Traff said and scurried off.

Nodding, lips tight, Sam brought his knife out. "Let's just get it over with." He vaguely remembered a time when the person standing beside him would never leave him. In fact, often moved to shield him, but Dean wasn't with him, never would be again, so Sam braced his stance, and stood alone.

That's when he heard it. Snarls, vicious low guttural snarls as the young hellhound stepped around Sam's legs, lips pulled back over flesh-piercing teeth.

Hazerm recoiled back and something released in Sam's chest, something he'd locked away, afraid to feel for so very long. Hope. He wasn't alone. He almost sobbed from the relief of it.

Hazerm looked from the hound to Sam, ushering the other demons forward with the wave of his hands. "It's just one hellhound, a puppy at best."

Sam readied the grip on his hilt as the demons came forward, circling.

"You're done here," a feminine voice rang out. All faces turned toward the crossroad. Casey, Traff, and several more demons who Sam recognized from gathering information walked towards them until they stood as a group with Sam.

Sam blinked, hardly daring to believe what was happening. Demons, standing up for him, protecting him. Traff looked up at him. "Sorry I ran before."

Sam shook his head, still in shock. "No, you did good."

"So, unless you're ready to take us all on, Hazerm . . ." Casey cocked her head, elbows on her hips. "You're done here."

Hazerm looked ready to chew rocks. "You can't protect him forever."

"Can't we?" Casey's brow arched.

Hazerm's face reddened. He stuck a finger out. "Fair match. Between him and me. We'll settle this once and for all."

"Perfect." Sam pushed through the group of his protectors. "Right here, right now."

Hazerm lifted his wide chin, twirling his own blade in an arc and signaled Sam forward.

The demon outweighed him by at least eighty pounds, but Sam had been taught by a marine. It takes only seven pounds of pressure to snap a collarbone and Sam went straight in to make the weapon's arm useless. Fist connected, collarbone broke, arm caved, hand went numb and the demon's blade thudded to the dirt at the same moment Sam's foot broke a kneecap and his arm chopped down on the back of the tottering demon's neck. The fight was over within thirty seconds.

The air thrummed in silent shock for what felt like another longer thirty seconds before the opposing demons scattered in a multitude of directions, several dispersing into smoke and roaring away.

"So, you're going to love to see what I just translated," Casey said as though what had just happened was an everyday occurrence. Well, maybe it was.

Brows lowered, Sam stared at her. "Uh, yeah." She turned to walk away, the others dispersing to wherever they were before they'd come running to his defense. Sam shook his head, hands on his hips and called out before they all left. "Hey!" They paused, turning back to him. "Thanks."

He got different reactions to that. A few nods, several shy grins, some looked outright embarrassed, others feigned boredom, yet there also seemed to be a little pride. They shuffled away a little taller.

Hell became easier to bear after that. Sam wasn't sure if it was due to taking out Hazerm or if it was the fact that he seemed to have his own private body guard following him around wherever he went. He hadn't asked for them, but several of the demons that had come to his defense managed to always be nearby. And then there was the hellhound. Weeks passed, and Imp had grown by staggering amounts, reaching to Sam's shoulder, larger than most the other hellhounds and with the way the dog's teeth bared at the slightest threat there wasn't a demon crazy enough to get near Sam.

#

Lucifer watched with a mixture of amazement and growing unease.

"He's a threat to you and must be broken," Ambreal warned.

Lucifer waved the lanky demon off. "He is no threat to me."

"The realm is fractured. Half the hosts want to battle him, earn your respect and the other half follow him around as though he is already their leader."

"It doesn't matter." Lucifer smoothed his satiny soft hair back. "He's a light in the darkness. He's intriguing, an oddity of hell. Can you blame any of them for wanting to just watch him, see what he will do or think next. In all this time, he still seeks answers."

"Answers to what?"

"To nothing. To everything. That's just it. Even in this pit, this wasteland, his mind is beautiful, always challenging himself."

"It sounds as though you are consumed by him as well," Ambreal said, then cringed when Lucifer swung toward him. He bowed his head respectfully. "My Lord."

Lucifer turned away, thoughtful. He tapped a finger against his lips. "Maybe I am. You know I couldn't break him. I couldn't see that spirit within him die. Even now, as he gains support in my realm, MY REALM, a part of me marvels that he is able to do that. He who defied me at every turn, who trapped me here when I was so close . . ." He sighed. "I should hate Sam Winchester above all else, yet I am just as fascinated." Lucifer turned hopeful eyes to Ambreal. "You don't suppose he would reconsider and sit at my right hand after all?"

Gulping, Ambreal shook his head.

"No." Lucifer sank down into a plush chair. "After all I've offered he prefers his dank hole in the tunnels to being by my side. I don't suppose even a thousand years would change that."

"Then break him."

Frowning, Lucifer shook his head. "I can't. He's still mortal. His body doesn't repeatedly heal. We both know that he'd never lose his humanity while he's still tied to his body. I'd only manage to destroy his flesh long before I ever broke his spirit and what good is he then to me?"

"Then you should have just let him go when the angels laid siege and dragged Michael and his useless vessel out instead of hiding Samuel in the darkest recesses of the pit you could find. He's wreaking havoc on your realm and you're allowing it because he amuses you. It'd be better if you did just free him, then you could properly kill him and break him without repercussions. Either way, he would no longer be a dividing factor."

Lucifer's head snapped up. "What did you say?"

"No longer be a dividing—"

"No." Lucifer stood and began pacing. "I'll let him go. Make sure he dies. Killed. No longer housed in a mortal shell. And when he returns he'll be fully dead, no ties to his humanity. He'll break, just like his brother broke." Excited, Lucifer clapped his hands. "Ambreal, you're wonderful."

Ambreal licked his lips. "But he hasn't done anything to deserve hell. When he's killed, he won't . . ."

"Oh he'll return to hell." Lucifer smiled so brilliantly Ambreal's mouth went dry. "There'll be no question of that."

#

Sam woke to Lucifer watching him. He should have known Traff's runes couldn't hide him from the Ruler of Hell. Stunningly beautiful, Lucifer ran long tapered fingers along Imp's silky fur, along the rise and fall of the hound's chest.

Swallowing, Sam scrambled back toward the far earthen wall. Lucifer could only be here for one thing, putting him back on the rack. Though he fought the panic, Sam's heart thundered against his rib cage. His fingers curled around his thread-bare blanket. "What did you do to my dog?"

Lucifer's brows rose. "Your dog?" Dark eyes crinkled with his smile. "You are a fascinating creature, Samuel Winchester. _MY DOG_ is merely sleeping so that you and I can have a quiet chat. You've been causing a little bit of trouble for me, so I've come to offer you a choice."

Sam closed his eyes. He already knew the choices. Be Satan's right hand guy, rule hell, turn a blind eye to putting people on the rack, people like his brother . . . or go back to the rack himself. There really was no choice as far as he could see it.

"No."

"Why, Samuel." Lucifer smiled kindly. "You don't even know the choices yet."

"Don't I? Just," He gulped, felt himself begin to tremble. "Just, let's get on with it."

"Join me." It was as heartfelt a pleas as Sam had ever heard from the fallen angel. "Please join me. Don't make this hard for both us of."

Sam barked out a laugh. "Hard for you? You're not the one strapped down . . ." He choked on the words as the muscles of his throat clamped tight.

Lucifer caressed Sam's cheek. It took everything in Sam to not flinch away, to meet the liquid eyes straight on. Lucifer sighed. "I'm not sending you to the rack. I'm letting you go."

The walls closed around him, spinning in a wicked revolution.

Lucifer took Sam's face in both his hands, leaning close. "No tricks. I'm letting you go."

Sam shook his head, trying to pull away, but Lucifer's grip was strong. "Wh-why? I don't understand."

"I won't lie to you. I'm letting you go, but you are mine."

Warm tears spilled down Sam's cheeks. "I don't understand."

"No, I don't suppose you do. You're mine, Samuel. You've always been meant to be mine. You'll be marked, a bounty on your head. But I'm giving you a chance. A chance to run. A chance to be free."

"With demons on my ass? What chance is that? What purpose? I'm already here. You already have me. This is just another sick game to break me?"

Lucifer shook his head. "No game. This time when you return, and you will, you'll no longer have your mortality."

And Sam understood. Without his body, without his ties to humanity, all Lucifer had to do was wait, have patience. Dean had lasted on the rack for thirty years and Sam knew he wasn't any near as strong as his brother. Satan would break him eventually.

"No, no, don't do this. Please, don't do this."

"Begging?" Lips puckered. "You know the way to avoid it."

Tears streaming, Sam pushed back his head. It was hopeless. Lucifer would win one way or the other, but Sam was too stubborn to give up without trying. Dean never gave up. Sam had to pretend he was just as strong.

Lucifer shifted back. "So be it." He stretched out his hand, placing his palm on the center of Sam's chest and a pillar of brim fire erupted in the bowels of hell while a single scream pulsed through the tunnels, a scream so filled with agony that even the demons who were immune to such shrieks shuddered against it.

TBC


	3. Back on Terra Firma

Usual Disclaimer with the usual Suspects: That would actually suck to be a "usual suspect", rounded up every time the cops need a line up. Anyhoo: (Boys and show still aren't mine—but a gal can dream) Chapter 3 -Back on Terra Firma

Everything hurt. Sam opened his eyes to a dull gray sky and immediately closed them again. Even an overcast day was too bright after being in darkness so long. He counted to ten, breathing, taking inventory of his aches . . . nothing broken . . . everything bruised. Every inch of him from the pads of his fingers thrummed with pain. But his chest, oh his chest, hurt like a mofo with each inhalation. He lay still and let his senses drift outward, to the scratchy grass against his back, the light breeze ruffling his hair and shirt and skimming his exposed skin.

What had Lucifer done? It felt like he'd been strapped to a bullet train that exploded out of the earth. Cautiously this time, Sam opened his eyes, squinting just enough to see and the sight stunned him. It looked like he had been in the center of a forest fire. There was nothing around for miles but scorched earth, except the little patch of pristine wild grass he lay on. His clothes were in tatters, his skin caked in dark greasy mud.

But he was out. He breathed in the rich air, coated with soot, but so unlike the sulfuric atmosphere of hell. Squeezing back the tears, Sam sat up, nearly blacking out from the jolt of pain in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up his T-shirt and hissed as the material grazed across his skin where a black hand print rested across his sternum. Not unlike Castiel's handprint Dean bore from hell, but larger, more ominous. Lucifer's mark. The tie that ensured Sam would be ripped back to the pit upon his death.

He had to disappear. He wanted Dean, but this wasn't going to end well and Sam would be damned, literally, if he brought Dean into this. But the one thing he'd wanted to do, desperately needed to do, the one thing that haunted Sam all that time in hell was knowing Dean worried about him, that his brother would suffer just knowing what was happening to Sam on the rack. He had the chance to make that right, to let Dean know he was out . . . he'd do that. Do that one thing and then disappear for good. He probably wouldn't make it, would be dragged back to Lucifer, but at least this way Dean wouldn't ever know it. At least his brother could have some peace.

Sam hauled himself painfully to his feet and began the long trek across the blackened field. He needed to find a phone.

#

Bobby Singer set down the shotgun he was cleaning to pick up the phone. "Yep?" he answered in that no nonsense way that didn't give away who he was in case he needed to use an alias.

"_Bobby?"_

He froze. His fingers squeezed around the receiver. He'd know that voice anywhere, but it couldn't be. His thumb hovered over the button, intent on hanging up, but he'd done that once before when Dean first called, back from the pit. He knew it couldn't be Sam, but . . . Hell, he was too old for this, getting too sentimental. His heart could not take this. Trembling more than a hardened hunter should, his thumb lowered over the button again.

"_Bobby, you there? It's me, Sam. Don't . . . don't hang up. Please don't hang up. I know this is weird. It's weird for me too, but please, Bobby. I need your help."_

"Kid." Bobby's voice was broken even to his own ears. He could not do this. "Last I heard there weren't no phones in hell. Whoever this is, just . . . call again and I'll . . ."

"_No, no, please Bobby . . ." _This was ripping his heart out. He sounded so much like Sam, the tiny hitch in his tone when Bobby threatened to disconnect. _"I'm not asking for anything. I just, I just need to get a message to Dean."_

That finally hardened Bobby's resolve. It was one thing to jerk him around, but he wasn't going to let any half-assed demon or revenant reopen Dean's wounds and scrape his emotions raw. "Yeah? That was your first mistake. If this was really Sam, he'd know Dean's number by heart and wouldn't have to go around me."

"_I called him. I dialed his number several times, but I couldn't go through with it. I just need you to tell him I'm out. I'm okay, but I can't come to him. Just let him know that. Please."_

"Why couldn't you come to him? Mistake number two. That's the first place the real Sam would go."

"_It's complicated."_

Enough was enough. He couldn't do this. "Call again and I'll hunt you down." No more talk. Bobby slammed the phone down, stared at it as he ran a shaky hand beneath his trucker's hat. He couldn't get past the thought that maybe, just maybe . . .

He picked up the phone, punched in a number.

#

Dean was bored. He sat on the back porch, looking at the lawn he'd promised to mow. That was Ben's job, but Lisa and Ben had gone to her sister's for the weekend so Dean was left with house duty, when he was itching to go cut the head off a vampire or pump silver rounds into a werewolf or shape-shifter. Instead he sat on the steps of an all American house, taking a pull off his beer.

Lisa usually found him out here nearly every evening, just before the first stars came out. He'd always go inside then, unwilling to gaze at the stars. Lisa never asked him why, but he thought she knew. She was a dream, never pushing, never demanding any commitments. He was crazy about her. Her and the kid. But this life was a dream as well and he didn't quite know how to live it. How to hold onto it when he was barely holding himself together. Maybe in time because time heals all wounds, right? That was a load of crap he'd like to cram down the throat of whoever first said it.

His phone rang, drawing him out of his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the caller I.D. expecting it to be Lisa, letting him know she'd arrived at her sister's safely, because he was like that, a worrier, but hell, he knew what was out there to worry about. He frowned when he saw it was Bobby.

"Bobby?" They hadn't spoken for six months, not since . . . "It's um, not a good time . . ." Same old line.

"_Don't worry, hotshot. I'm not drawing you back into the life. I just need . . ." _Something about Bobby's pitch was off, alerting Dean's senses. _"Um, look. I hate to ask this, but I need to run something by Castiel. It's not like I can get him on the phone anymore, but, um, he always came to you when you called. I wouldn't bother you with this if it wasn't important, real important, so if you can reach him, could you send him my way?"_

"Sure." Dean tamped down the urge to ask what was so big Bobby needed Castiel's advice, but it was driving him crazy not knowing. Maybe just a little weekend hunt wouldn't hurt, get the juices flowing again, keep him from going stir crazy, give him something to take his mind off S-. He squeezed his eyes closed, not believing he was about to say his next words. "So, um, is this anything I can help with?"

"_No,"_ Bobby said it so quickly it racketed up Dean's alert factor, but he let it drop.

"Okay, then. Nice talking to you. I'll let you know about Cas."

"_Yeah. You too. I'll, um, I'll talk at you later."_ The phone clicked off. Dean frowned at it. Something was definitely up that Bobby didn't want him to know about.

"Cas!" Dean shouted into the air. "Cas, we need to talk."

Wind whipped across his face with a flutter of wings. Castiel stood several yards away. "Dean."

Wow, that was unexpectedly fast, as though the angel was on high alert, already attuned to listening to . . . whatever frequency angels listened to. "Something big's going down and I want to know what it is."

"How do you know this?" Castiel cocked his head to the side. "I thought you were . . . _out of the game_."

Dean rolled his gaze skyward. "I am. Bobby called, acting weird, asking for you."

Castiel nodded. "Then I shall go to him."

"Wait, wait!"

Castiel stared at Dean expectantly.

Dean punched resend and tossed Cas his phone. "Just call him from here. No sense giving the guy a heart attack dropping in like you do."

Castiel inclined his head and lifted the phone to his ear. "Bobby Singer? Yes, this is Castiel." Cas's gaze swept up to Dean's. "Yes, it is possible."

Dean heard Bobby shout into the phone, his voice nearly to the point of being anguished.

Castiel nodded, his eyes steady on Dean and then he turned his back to him, walking a few paces away. "Heaven's been awash with the news." Undeterred, Dean followed Cas, leaning in to eavesdrop. "Entire garrisons have been searching, but understand . . . with the Enochian symbols angels aren't our best resource. I see. Have you traced the call?"

Enochian? "What the hell?" Dean grabbed Cas's arm, spinning the angel to face him. He felt like he'd been sucker punched in the lungs.

Cas blinked at him. "Personal space, Dean."

"Oh that's rich coming from you. You're talking Enochian symbols with Bobby and as far as I know, me, Adam and Sam are the only people with those runes imprinted on our bones. Or do you just hand those out as party favors now? You're going to tell me right now what is going on. Which one of my brothers is an entire garrison of angels looking for? You told me Adam was safe in Heaven. Did he bust out?"

"Dean." Castiel's eyes widened. "Why would Adam want to leave Heaven?"

Dean stared. He staggered back. The ground was heaving beneath him. "Sam?" His brother's name came out in a croak.

Castiel sighed, lips pressed tight as though making a decision. "Rumor is Lucifer let him go, but has put a bounty on his head."

Dean lowered to the grass. His legs didn't have any strength to support him. "Is that true, Cas? Why would Satan do that?"

Castiel looked away, avoiding his gaze.

"Cas?"

"Your brother's body was getting in the way."

Dean shook his head, not understanding.

Cas attempted again. "Sam's mortality sustained him from breaking on the rack." He inclined his head, hoping Dean would catch on.

"Son of a bitch! So, so what? Lucy let him out, just so he could kill Sam and strip him of his body? So there are demons on his ass right now?"

"Precisely."

"My brother's out of the pit?" Unshed tears blurred Dean's vision. "We have to find him. How long has he been out? Why didn't he call me?"

"As far as we can tell, Sam's been out less than an hour. He called Bobby."

Dean grabbed the phone out of Castiel's hand. "Bobby, you still there!"

"_Dean!"_

"My brother calls and you don't tell me!"

"_Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't really believe it was him. I had to check it out with Castiel before I dragged you into it. Son, I'm really sorry. I had him right there, talking to him, but I hung up. Dean, I hung up on Sam."_

Dean was steaming. He couldn't see straight, could barely force a breath in his lungs. "Anybody calls claiming to be my brother, you tell me. I don't care if it is a shape-shifter, demon or what. You tell me."

There was silence for a beat. _"I traced the call."_

"Where?"

" _Uniontown, Pennsylvania. A pay phone three miles out at a Lucky Seven Gas and Go. I'm headed that way now."_

"We'll meet you there." Dean ran to the Impala, parked in the back garage, opened the trunk and grabbed the packed duffle. The weight felt right as he slung it onto his shoulder. "Cas?"

The angel placed his hand on Dean's elbow and in a rush of wings, they were gone.

TBC


	4. Lucifer's Mark

4 Lucifer's Mark

They emerged from the air just outside a run-down payphone. Dean wobbled on his feet, grabbing the booth to steady himself. Traveling with angels was a hell of a ride. "Okay, I'm good," he told Cas who was staring at the booth. It was a mess, broken glass, but it fit the rest of the area. Old beat-up gas station in the middle of nowhere. He wondered if anyone inside had seen Sam?

"Do you see these?" Cas pointed to the dirty metal of the booth.

"Old dirt?"

"No. The symbols. Your brother is in the process of hiding his tracks." Cas leaned closer. "I don't understand how Sam would know of these ancient Persian runes."

"You're kidding, right? If there was any information lying around in hell, that kid would ferret it out." For the first time in a very long time, Dean felt a grin tug his mouth up. That's my boy, Sammy. "Are you sure these are your . . . whatever symbols and not just dirt? I can't see anything."

"I'm sure." Castiel ran a hand over the tin wall. "Humans aren't meant to see them. Nor are demons. He's trying to hide himself, but the process hasn't yet been complete."

"But you can see them?" A surge of hope unstrung the knots pulling in Dean's gut.

"Yes." Castiel cast about in a wide circle. "Like shining stars in a darkening sky. There." He ran off toward the woods.

Dean breathed in a huge draft of air, whispering a thank you to the settling night before running after Cas.

They crashed through the woods, Cas stopping only briefly to look around before he discovered the next rune as they followed a trail unerringly through the dark trees. Dean couldn't see the trail, but abruptly he didn't need to as the sound of shouts and cursing echoed around the forest. Obviously, Sam's runes hadn't hidden him well enough or he hadn't had time to do a proper job of it. He stopped, gauging the direction the noise came from when another sound rang out, chilling him to the bones. Dean met Cas's worried gaze. Hellhounds.

They raced forward, coming to a dip in the land, and Dean froze, dumping the duffle on the ground to grab weapons, mesmerized by the display before him.

There was his younger brother, fighting a dozen or more demons, a fluid motion of lean muscle combined with grace and skill, hacking, driving, rotating, swinging downward, scooping up weapons that were just used against him in a continual movement of precise control. Dean had never seen anything so beautiful.

And when the shifting air and stirring leaves indicating hellhounds, came upon him, Sam called out one word in Latin and the hellhounds took form, able to be seen. Not that Dean ever wanted to look upon their ugly snouts again, but it was good to see what he had to fight. They descended on Sam like in wreathing coils of sinew and flesh and Sam took them each out with one stroke, getting up close, under the jaw, too close for Dean's comfort. Running forward to help, Dean couldn't take his eyes off of Sam, could barely comprehend what he was seeing.

"Sam!" Dean called out, wishing to God that he hadn't as his voice momentarily broke Sam's concentration. Sam faltered, surprise and shock all over his features as a fallen demon rose back up from where he'd fallen to the leaf-litter, using the distraction to slice a blade across Sam's abdomen.

"Noooo!" Dean hurdled down the hill, shooting any demon who got in his way, only slowing them, but Dean had eyes only for Sam. Sam who chopped the head off the demon and kept stumbling forward with the momentum. Sam who didn't see another demon raise an axe behind him. Sam who turned just as the largest hellhound Dean had ever seen crashed over the demon, tossing her into its mouth where it ripped her in two just before those same terrifying teeth clamped around his brother's middle and carried him into the woods like a rag doll hanging from its mouth.

Dean's breath came in ragged gasps, heavy in his ears. _Hellhound. His brother. Oh God, oh God._ He left the battlefield, left Cas to deal with the remaining few demons on his own. _Sam. Oh God_. He exploded upon them. Sam was a crumpled tangle on the forest floor, the hellhound's nose inches from his brother's face.

"Get away from him!" Dean aimed the salt round, fired.

The shot went high as Castiel appeared, forcing his arm up. The hound had turned, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl.

"Don't make him mad," Castiel hissed.

"What the hell!" Dean could not believe this.

"Look closely. He saved your brother. He's protecting him."

Dean gave the scene a once over. Though Sam had been carried in the hound's mouth, there wasn't a tear on him, except for the blood seeping from his abdomen. The hound's head lowered, whimpering, licking Sam's face. Leave it to Sam to gain the loyalty of a hellhound.

Dean inched closer. "Sam." The hound growled.

"Hold still. Let him get your scent," Castiel cautioned.

"How is that going to help?" Dean froze as the hound moved closer, the giant head coming inches toward his face.

"Hellhounds have superb scenting ability. Beyond mortal dogs. You and Sam are brothers. You share the same scent."

"These dogs can tell that?"

Cas shrugged. "In theory."

"Great." Dean allowed the hellhound to sniff all over him, not particularly enjoying the hot puffs of hound breath. Slowly he made his way to Sam, dropping down by his side while the hound hovered over them both.

"Sammy, you with me?"

His brother groaned and Dean nearly buckled from the glorious sound of it. "That's right, you're with me. I'm here, Sammy. I'm right here. You're safe now."

Sam's eyes fluttered open. He stared at Dean for a moment without comprehension, then let his gaze pass over to Cas. He took a wide track of the surrounding area before letting his eyes settle once more on Dean. Then it happened. Sam's features crumpled as he lifted himself just enough to wrap his arms around Dean's waist, bunching the material of Dean's shirt in those long fingers where he just held on.

Dean crushed Sam to his chest, feeling Sam shudder against him, the shaggy head pressed to his stomach while quiet sobs shook through both their frames. Dean pressed his cheek against Sam's hair, all the pent up emotion he'd held together for months, for months, streaming through his tears, radiating deep from within his shattered core. Dean could have stayed right there forever, gripping his brother in the protective circle of his arms, pulling him so tightly he was afraid he risked breaking bones. He didn't even mind when the hellhound nosed against them, lightly whimpering. His entire world narrowed to his kid brother, here, with him, sobbing quietly into his chest and shaking, shaking so hard.

"Uh, Dean. Sam." Castiel stood yards away. "I hate to intrude, but Sam, you've lost a lot of blood. Kindly ask your . . . friend . . . to let me near."

Both brothers lifted their heads. Sam lifted an unsteady palm to the hound's muzzle. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay. He's a friend. _Amici_."

Large crimson eyes lifted toward the angel, watching intently as Castiel approached. Crouching near the Winchesters, Cas extended his hand toward the younger brother. "Sam, it's good to see you."

Tear lines streaking his muddy face, Sam stared at the offered hand before he grasped it, nodding, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing. "Yeah. You too."

Castiel clasped Sam's hand in both of his. "The world owes you more than can ever be repaid. It's an honor."

Sam looked away, uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well . . ." Dean cleared the gruffness from his throat. "Get to healing, angel cakes. We haven't got all night."

"Of course." Castiel inclined his head and reached over Sam's body to his lower abdomen. As soon as his palm touched Sam's shirt, the young man screamed, bucking back nearly out of Dean's reach. Cas flinched back, breaking contact. Rather than attack, the hellhound threw his head back and bellowed.

"What did you do?" Dean roared.

"I can't heal him. Something's blocking me." With one powerful tug, the angel ripped Sam's T-shirt down the middle, exposing the young man's flesh.

"Oh my God," Dean whispered, horrified.

Castiel let his palm hover above the black hand print, but Dean's gaze zeroed in on the scars covering Sam's torso. His brother's entire chest was a mottled mass of reformed tissue. And Dean knew exactly how each mark, each welt, each stripping of flesh had been doled out. He'd endured it himself. He'd inflicted the same wounds himself. He wanted to look away, wanted to run howling toward the nearest cliff, but Sam had quieted and was watching Dean inspect the damage. No way could Dean look away, because it would be like turning away from Sam and Sam had nothing to be ashamed of.

Instead, Dean lifted his eyes to Sam's, held.

"Lucifer's marked him." Oblivious to the silent messages going on around him, Castiel rubbed his jaw. "As long as he has that, I can't heal him. Lucifer's made certain that Sam belongs to him. If this wound, or anything else kills him . . . there's nothing I can do."

Dean closed his eyes at that, relieved to have an excuse to look away from the horror that was his brother's body. "It's not safe here. Cas, get us away from here."

Castiel stood, frowning. "I can't transport Sam that way. Not with the mark on him. I don't know what that could do to him." His jaw firmed. "Bobby Singer is en route. I'll go to him, direct him here." Without a good bye, hang tight, nothing, wind whipped past the brothers, fluttering leaves, and he was gone.

Dean pulled his outer shirt off, wishing he hadn't left the duffle bag back by the demons Cas had obviously dispatched. "You know the drill, Sammy. Let's apply pressure and then see about getting you someplace safe."

Sam's fingers latched onto Dean's forearm and he shook his head. "There is no place safe."

TBC


	5. Floundering For Hope

5 Floundering for Hope

Sam's wound needed tending fast so once Bobby and Cas reached them, they loaded Sam in the back of Bobby's truck with Dean and opted speeding to the closest motel. Inconceivably with the speed they were clocking, the hellhound was there as they slid Sam out of the back and set him on his feet, long arm slung around his brother.

The hound nuzzled against Sam, knocking the brothers back a step and Sam wrapped his arm around the large neck, pressing his face into the sleek fur. _"Tego texi tectum. Nullus nutrimens quislibet gens."_

Bobby's jaw dropped. "Did you just tell a hellhound to stand guard and not eat any people? In Latin?"

Sam released the hound's neck and shrugged. "They respond better to Latin." Sam pulled his ruined T-shirt closed and let Dean guide him into the motel.

Once over the threshold, Dean looked at the closest bed, then over at the table. The table would be better, firmer to do what needed to be done, but it would never accommodate Sam's long frame. To the bed he headed, easing Sam down. "On your back, kiddo," he said, wincing at the flash of fear that streaked across his brother's features. But Sam complied, lifting his legs and stretching out on the mattress.

Bobby came in, carrying supplies from the truck, which he loaded by Sam's legs and bent, pulling the tattered T-shirt aside. Dean had never seen the old man go so pale so quickly. Dean wanted to vomit himself, seeing the scar tissue in the light, the ugly handprint. He steeled his features, glanced up to Bobby, willing him to get it together.

A muscle ticked in Bobby's jaw, but he visibly shook himself and got down to business, focusing only the open slice across Sam's abdomen. "I have morphine, but we need to get started. Cas, Dean. I'll need you to hold him down until it kicks in."

"No." Dean shook his head, every muscle in his face stiff, seeing an unbidden image of Sam's wrists strapped down, leather around his ankles . "We can't hold him down. He doesn't need to be held down."

Sam watched him, relief floating in his eyes. Bobby paused, his mouth slightly ajar, before he nodded. "Okay. Okay. Sam, you ready, son?"

Sam nodded. His eyes tightened only a fraction when Bobby shot him full of morphine and then began the arduous task of swabbing Sam's filthy stomach clean so he could begin cleaning the wound before drawing surgical thread and needle through the skin. After salting the door and windows, Castiel stood at the end of the bed, fascinated by what must seem a primitive display of medical know-how.

Dean would tend to Sam himself, but his hands were shaking, his nerves on edge. He watched as Sam shifted his head to stare straight up at the ceiling, lips stretched thin. Dean knew that look and it tore his heart out. Sam was resolved to the pain, taking his mind to another place as he bared down, preparing to take whatever was done to him on the rack. No escape. No help. He'd had to endure it alone.

But damn it, he wasn't alone now.

Leaning down close, Dean's forearm slid along Sam's until his hand curled around the younger man's elbow and he shifted, one knee on the bed, getting right up into Sam's face so his brother would have to look at him, not the ceiling. He just stayed there, willing Sam to look only at him, letting him know he was no longer alone, that big brother was there and he knew better than anybody what Sam was experiencing.

He knew the moment he broke through. A flicker of the eyes and Sam's rigid focus wavered, shifting to Dean, latching on him with an intensity that drilled into Dean's soul. He felt Sam's hand clasp around his own elbow, pads of the long fingers pressing into his skin. Never wavering his gaze, back aching from the position, Dean let his other hand settle onto the side of Sam's sweaty face. "This time it's just stitching, we're helping you. You're not there, Sam. You're not there."

A tear dripped down Sam's cheek, down the side of his face, onto Dean's palm. Sam's head barely nodded. Dean would have missed it if his brother's face wasn't cradled in his hand. Dean tried to smile for Sam, but it was a grim mockery. He remained in that prolonged position, an anchor for Sam, until his brother's eyes went glassy and his features relaxed into a morphine-induced peace.

#

Dean insisted on cleaning the dried mud off Sam himself. Even though Castiel and Bobby had both seen the evidence left from hell's rack, Dean wanted to shield his brother from the stares anyway. Not that it mattered, the kid remained unconscious throughout his ministrations. After Sam was clean, well clean enough-Dean would help him in the shower later- and bandaged and given a clean T-shirt and sweats Bobby purchased at a nearby store while on a pizza run, the three men moved Sam to the far bed to let him sleep.

During the shift, Sam woke up momentarily and scrawled some runes on a piece of paper, urging them to draw them right outside the door for extra protection and then mumbled about getting Imp some water and maybe raw hamburger.

"Imp?" Dean's brows angled up into pointed arches. "Kind of a sissy name for a dog that size."

Sam actually smiled and the sight pulled something deep inside Dean's chest. "Imp is short . . . for something."

"Short for what?" Dean lifted a slice of pizza for a bite, then froze. "You named a hellhound after my car?"

Grinning like an idiot, Sam rolled over to go back to sleep, leaving Dean standing there shaking his head. Only his brother. Searching for anything about Devil's Marks on the laptop, Bobby grinned at the interchange.

"It's a fitting name," Castiel offered. "Both large and black, sleek, with a powerful roar."

"Shut up." Dean sank into the chair between the beds, trying his best to keep the grin from crawling over his face.

He didn't know how long he watched Sam sleep, aware of every twitch, every lift and rise of his brother's chest. He wondered how long it had been since Sam was able to sleep so peacefully. Dean jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder and looked up into Bobby's face.

"You should turn in," the old hunter said. "Sam will be fine. He's not going to up and disappear on you."

"But that's just it, Bobby. I'm afraid that if I look away long enough, he'll do just that . . . disappear."

Bobby didn't say anything, just squeezed the young man's shoulder. "We'll get through this."

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "This is too big. If I can't keep Sam alive . . . he'll . . . I can't . . . I can't let him go to hell again. It will be worse this time. And what he's already endured . . . He never deserved any of this. I can't do this anymore."

"Well, what else can you do? Just walk out on him?"

Horrified, Dean jumped out of his chair. "No! Of course not. I would never leave him."

Bobby grasped both of Dean's arms. "Then you've got no choice. You keep fighting. You keep holding on and never give up. We'll keep him safe. We'll find a way out of this. We'll find a way to break the hold from that damn mark, camouflage him if we have to."

Dean nodded, weary and broken. "Have you found anything?"

Bobby looked down at the floor. "No, but I'll keep looking. In a few days we'll get Sam back to my place and I can dig through the books there. Dean, you know I won't stop looking. We'll get through this, son."

"Yeah.

"Get some rest. I'll watch over Sam."

"Okay, yeah." Dean nodded, but didn't move, staring at his slumbering brother. "I, um, just need to get some air first."

"You do that." Bobby sat down in the chair, face turned toward the younger hunter in an attempt to prove to Dean that his brother was safe with him.

Dean got it. Wasn't happy about it, but he got the message. Leave. So he slipped outside. Not needing sleep, Castiel had his head tilted, studying the large hellhound who was happily munching a side of pork ribs. "Fascinating creatures, these hellhounds. You know I've never gotten this close to any of them before."

Dean's lips twisted. "Well I have—up close and too personal-and I gotta say it's a little unnerving. He blew out a breath. "Impala."

The hound lifted his head, short tail wagging.

"That's right," Dean spoke to the dog. "You better live up to your name." He actually lifted his hand, let the animal move his head beneath his palm, begging for Dean to scratch him. And Dean couldn't believe he was doing it, rubbing behind the ears of a freaking hellhound. A hellhound who had saved his brother's life. "Sam better have a good story to tell about this one. Um, Cas?"

"Dean."

Dean didn't want to ask this. "Can . . . " He clenched his jaw until his throat worked again. "Can you take Sam to Heaven?"

Castiel stepped forward, invading Dean's space. "You mean hide Sam from Lucifer there. Forever?"

Dean nodded, unable to speak.

"No. I'm sorry, Dean." With his head lowered, Castiel looked up at the hunter. "As long as Sam bears Lucifer's Mark, he cannot pass through the gates of Heaven. It's the reason Lucifer marked Sam to begin with."

Dean closed his eyes while the last splatterings of hope slipped through his grasp.

A crunch on the pavement alerted Dean to movement in the dark. His eyes snapped open. Imp's head faced out into the parking lot, ears up, the entire large body still and coiled. Castiel's gaze scanned the area.

"Dean Winchester." A woman stepped out of the shadows, dark glossy hair, body that'd make most men weep if it weren't for the eyes that rolled back in her head, going completely black. "So good to see you again."

TBC


	6. Star Gazing

6 Star Gazing

"Meg?"

"That whore? Now don't go and insult me. After that soul-searching night we spent together? Try again."

Dean looked harder. "Casey?"

On the other side of the parking area, the muted lamplight cast shadows across her face. "You actually sound pleased."

"Well, I can think of a few other demons I'd hate to see more than you." Truth was, he did kind of like Casey. She was the first demon he'd ever gotten a straight story from. At least he thought so. He rolled his eyes. A demon was a demon. "Whether I'm glad to see you or not, sweet cheeks, you're not getting anywhere near my brother."

Castiel shifted forward, ready to send her packing.

"So quick to judge," Casey tsked, and held her arms out. "Impala, sweet baby!" The hellhound bounded across the parking lot to her, nuzzling his head against her body.

Cas and Dean gave each other wary glances.

Casey talked around Imp's huge head. "Like I told you before, Dean, I was ready to follow your brother. I mean him no harm." A shoulder lifted in a half-shrug." We became friends."

"Friends?"

Casey planted a hand on her cocked hip. "That so hard to believe? Do you honestly think Sam's hound would let any demon who meant him harm near him?"

"Demons can't be trusted."

"She can," Sam said from the doorway. All faces turned to him. "She saved me on more than one occasion." Imp raced over to him, nearly knocking Sam over who balanced himself while hugging the long face. Looking up, Sam smiled, a genuine nice-to-see-you smile. "Casey. How'd you get out?" Dean looked from Sam to Casey and back again.

Bobby followed Sam out and Dean gave him a great-job-of-watching-him glare.

"Oh, you know, our little friend Traff. He had something that needed a special delivery." The demon pulled a book made of thin iron plates bound loosely with rings from the inside pocket of her jacket.

Sam's countenance lit up just like it used to when his research turned up answers. It was beautiful to see. "The Babylonian Text?"

"Mmm-hmm. Want to let me through the runes or should we shout across the cars?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. _Khosh amadi," _his brother said, and the demon moved closer, heels tapping on the pavement as Casey stepped past Dean as though he was no deterrent. Okay, maybe he wasn't right now because he had no clue what was going on, but the moment she got out of line . . .

Opening the book, Casey ran a finger over the chicken-scratch looking engravings. Sam's head lowered next to hers to read along, which was just weird, Casey being a demon nerd. That with the fact that both she and her brother could read that crap. What the hell had they been doing in hell? And who cared about a stupid metal book? And oh, great, now Castiel was looking over their shoulders as well.

"I haven't finished the entire passage yet." Casey looked up at Sam. "But if it's headed in the direction I think . . . Sam, it's all about cleansing a Devil's Mark."

All the blood drained to Dean's toes. He took it all back. He liked Casey. He really, really liked Casey. "Sister," he spun her around. "You better not be spittin out bull."

She smiled gently. "I wouldn't do that. But you don't have to believe me. Ask Sam, he can translate it for himself."

"Is that true?"

Sam's fingers were flying over the metal pages, his forehead wrinkled. He didn't realize he swayed on his feet and that Bobby steadied him. "Yeah, but Casey's much better."

She fluttered her eyelashes prettily up at Dean. "This can free him from Lucifer. Sam can be free, truly free."

Dean steered her toward the door, afraid to believe, afraid not to. "Let's take this inside. Sam needs to sit down."

"I'm fine, grandma." Sam hadn't looked up from the book once.

"Well, I'm not," Dean admitted. Guiding Casey inside, she stopped at the threshold, arching a brow.

"Oh, sorry." Dean rubbed a line in the salt and let her pass.

#

"Look at them, Cas. Completely transfixed by metal plates. Nerdy brother and equally nerdy hot demon chick." Dean sat on the bed, watching Sam and Casey pour over the text, Bobby taking furious notes as they translated.

"The Babylonian Text has been missing for a millennia. We never once thought of looking for it in hell," Castiel informed him.

"Well thank you, Mr. Encyclopedia."

Dean smiled. It all seemed so normal. Sam and Bobby pouring over books, the furrows in Sam's forehead as he read and read. The kid was never happier than when he was learning something. "Do you think there's really something in there that can save my brother?"

"The Babylonian Text was rumored to be a powerful resource." Castiel tilted his head, cracking his neck. "It's not improbable."

"Good." Dean took a pull off his beer, settling the hope that he was afraid to fully let out yet. "That's good."

His eyes narrowed as Sam and Casey stopped reading, looking up at each other. Both of their faces had blanched, worried. Not good. Dean scooted toward the edge of the bed. Whatever they'd just come across was not good. Maybe it had been a complete dead end and they'd just now realized it.

A muscle in Sam's cheek twitched and he pushed up from the chair he'd been sitting in for hours. Bobby looked up at him expectantly. Sam waved him off. "I'm, um, I'm going to stretch my legs." Within a few steps, Sam was outside, shutting the door behind him.

Bobby pushed his hat back, eyeing Casey. "Mind explaining what just happened? The ritual a bust?"

"No. I don't think so." She shook her head, looking as miserable as Dean had ever seen a demon capable of looking. "It just got a whole lot more complicated."

#

Imp jumped on Sam the moment he came out of the motel room, swamping Sam in a wall of fur. For all his weight and enthusiasm, the hellhound was extremely gentle with Sam, not toppling him over. Sam winced at the pain in his stomach, hoping the jerking movement hadn't reopened the stitches while he laid his head against the giant canine and patted the smooth side.

Sensing Sam's mood, Imp whined, returning to all fours. With nowhere safe to go, Sam lowered to sit on the walkway and leaned his head on the outside wall just below the window. Imp sank down beside him, resting his muzzle across Sam's legs.

He was scared. The ritual was . . . Damn, just thinking about it was making him tremble.

The motel door opened and someone came outside. Sam didn't look up, didn't need to. Without saying a word, Dean slipped down to the ground and sat beside him. Sam's fingers moved rhythmically along Imp's head, calming the flutter of his limbs.

He felt Dean study him. "How's the stitches?"

The corners of Sam's lips flicked up. He'd endured the tortures of hell on his own for months, mostly patching himself up, yet Dean was here now. Probably wouldn't allow Sam to so much as open a bandaide on his own. "See." He pulled up his T-shirt, knowing it'd just be easier to indulge his over-protective sibling. "No blood seeping through."

"You in pain?"

"No." At least not compared to what he'd been dealt before. "Not really."

Dean nodded. "Good."

Sam stared up at the stars. He'd forgotten how peaceful and beautiful a night sky could be. "How's Lisa and Ben? I haven't asked."

Dean seemed startled by that. "They're good. They're great. They went to Lisa's sister's, have some big shopping trip planned. The kid's been trying to get out of it for a week. Got a text from her a few hours ago."

"Things worked out for you then?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know. Sometimes I feel . . ." Dean scraped his lower lip between his teeth. "I don't know, man. It's just not my life. I just don't feel settled." He grunted out a chuckle. "Being settled is unsettling."

Sam found Orion's Belt. "You're a hunter. Down to your core. But that doesn't mean you can't have both."

"I know, but it just doesn't seem fair to Lisa, making her live with that kind of worry."

"Military families do it all the time. How is it any different?"

Dean's face lifted to the sky, softened in wonder as his eyes searched the faraway pinpricks of light as though they were a long ago memory for him as well. "You're pushing this kind of hard. Why is it so important to you?"

"I just . . . I just want you to be happy. To not give up on something because you think you're not worth it." He paused, wondering how much to reveal, how much sappiness his brother could take right now. Screw it. He may not have another chance. "Sometimes, Dean, when things were the worst, I'd think about you up here with Lisa, living, being happy, and . . ." He put his hands over his face to give himself a moment. "Sometimes that was the only thing that got me through." He let his hands fall back to Imp's head. "You love her, don't you?"

Dean nodded, a riot of emotions washing over his tightened features.

"So, you'll stay with her?"

"You going to make me promise again?"

Sam barked out a laugh, a welcome break in the stress. "No. That's a promise you should make to Lisa, not to me."

"Well look at you. Learned something in your time downstairs."

"You have no idea," Sam whispered, feeling the loss of the moment.

Dean's eyes bored into him. "Actually . . . I have a damn good idea of how it was. I may be the only one around here who does."

Sam's chest constricted like he was held with tight leather bands. "Dean, about that . . ."

"It's alright, Sam. You don't have to talk about it."

"No, it's just . . . I need to tell you. It wasn't like that for me."

"Those scars didn't get there by themselves. You've been gone six months. I know the time translation." Dean's features crumpled and that cut at Sam worse than anything.

Sam drew in an unsteady breath. Just thinking about the rack nearly paralyzed him, but he had to let Dean know, couldn't let his brother believe he'd endured nothing but that . . . "Yeah. I was on the rack, but it wasn't for sixty years. Only weeks, maybe, a month? I don't know. I'd go months at a time before they'd put me back on. Time's weird in hell. I know how it worked for you, but for me—maybe because I wasn't really dead . . . Dean, the entire time I spent there, it didn't even feel like a year."

Dean's face softened, his half-lidded stare uncertain as he considered the new information. "Sammy, you're not just saying this to make me feel better?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It's true. Some parts were awful, but it wasn't all torture. Not all the time. You have to know that. But, Dean, I can't go back." He felt the panic rise inside him, threatening to grab him by the throat. "Without my body . . . and the rack . . . I can't . . . I won't last . . ." He felt himself suddenly keening over, heaving, clawing for air. Imp's head lifted, red eyes alert.

And Dean was there, strong hands supporting him. "It's okay, Sammy. You're not going back. Whatever it takes. You're not going back. This ritual you've been working on. It's going to work."

Sam drew back, felt his brother's gaze sweep onto his face, though Sam remained looking straight ahead.

"What did you find out? Sam? It will work, right?"

Sam closed his eyes against the desperation in Dean's voice. He doubted anyone else would be able to pick up on it beneath the raspy determination.

"It will work." Sam opened his eyes, peeked sidelong at his brother.

"Good, that's good. See, everything will be fine." Dean stopped, lips pressed together. "Oh, man. There's a _but_, isn't there?"

Sam swallowed. "Purged. The text said _purged_. It's a heavy-duty ritual that actually draws star fire down to earth."

"Like what?" Dean's brows lowered. "Pulling a comet down from the atmosphere?"

Sam shrugged at the simple interpretation. "Yeah. Kind of like that. There's a little more to it, but bottom line, the Devil's Mark—anything _unholy-_ gets purged, burned away in a blast of star fire."

Dean placed a hand against his forehead as though he could rub out a headache. "That doesn't sound like something that can be survived."

"I don't think it is."

"So what? I'm supposed to just watch and let it kill you?" A single tear escaped, trailing down Dean's cheek. "'Cause I did that once. I sat there while you jumped into that hole and I'm not doing that again. No way. This, this ritual. This obviously isn't the answer. Just throw those damn Babylon plates away—and we'll find something else. What's the point of a ritual that kills someone? Who in their right mind makes these things up? It's stupid."

Sam exhaled a long breath. "It's not stupid. This ritual isn't about whether you live or die. That's not even the point. It's meant to get rid of the Devil's Mark, Lucifer's Mark."

"So even though it kills you, you're not Satan's bitch anymore?" Dean was shaking his head, jaw tight like he was about to lose it at any moment. "I don't care. I'm not letting you do it. We'll find another way."

"And if I die before we do? Dean, I have a bull's eye sitting square on my chest. It will take just one slip up and I'm back in hell . . . and he promised, Lucifer promised, it will be so much worse this time. I can't—" Sam felt the dizziness, the darkness coming to swamp him. "I can't die with this thing on me. We have to do this ritual."

Dean didn't say anything. What was there to say? Agony was fracturing the strong lines of his face.

Several moments passed. Imp's heavy breathing coated the silence.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" His brother's voice sounded raw, quiet.

"Do you think . . .?" Sam blinked, trying to stop the tears. "Do you think once the mark's gone that . . . " He had to pause, get his shredded voice under control. "Do you think that they'll let me into Heaven?"

"Oh, Sammy." And that was when Dean broke, when a sob tore to the surface. "Of course they will." A calloused palm slipped behind Sam's neck, and he felt himself pulled toward his brother until his forehead rested against the side of Dean's face. "Of course they will. They have to. You're the best man I know."

TBC


	7. Thirty Paces

7 Thirty Paces

"They're out there." Seated on the pavement, Sam's gaze jerked up at the same time Imp's huge head lifted off of Sam's lap. The hound stood, long muscles bunched into wreaths.

Dean stared out into the darkness and tapped on the window to alert the others in the motel room as the brothers got to their feet and stared out into the evening.

"It's okay," Sam said. "The runes will keep any demon at least thirty paces away unless I invite them closer."

"Oh, and you think thirty paces is enough?" Dean scowled. "Suppose one of them just happens to be smart enough to pack a gun?"

The air fluttered and Castiel was suddenly there. Casey dropped out of the air next, while Bobby yanked the door open and walked out like a normal person with wonderful normal shotguns in both hands, tossing one to Dean.

Dean stepped in front of his brother. "Get inside, Sam. Now."

Sam was looking at Imp, eyes narrowed. "But, Dean—"

"Not risking you. Get in."

"Imp's not agitated. It's fine. Casey?"

"Checking." She slipped away.

There was scuffling as footfalls padded closer and dark silhouettes emerged across the parking lot. Scanning the area, Dean counted at least two dozen demons taking up positions in scattered formations. He hoped Sam's runes held out. He also hoped Sam would listen to him for once and haul ass into the room. But no, his idiot of a brother just stepped around him, walking right out into the parking lot.

"What the hell!" Running forward, Dean grabbed Sam by the scruff of his T-shirt and yanked back, and the surrounding demons shouted. The clicks and creaks of weapons made Dean shove Sam to the ground, raise his own weapon. Bobby and Castiel ran over to flank them.

"Get off of him now!" a voice squeaked, and Dean's eyes widened. He looked up into the business end of a crossbow, held by a sliver of a demon who was actually shaking, pushing up against some kind of an invisible wall. "I said get off him, mister. Let him go."

"And let you get a clean shot at him? I don't think so."

"Dean, knock it off." Sam tried to get up, but Dean elbowed him down, keeping what he could of his own body in front of the kid.

The crossbow creaked.

"Traff!" Sam called. "Don't. Stop. This is my brother. My brother. He thinks he's protecting me."

"I am protecting you!"

"No. You're making an ass out of yourself. Let me up, would you?"

"Let him up!" "Get off him!" "Touch one hair of his head . . ." Several demons called out of the surrounding dark.

"Your brother?" the little guy questioned.

"Amazing, isn't it? Limited gene pool I guess." Casey appeared. "They all check out. They're all with us."

"Friends of yours?" Dean pulled Sam to his feet, reeling from the scare he'd just given him. "You don't walk out again like that. Have your hunter instincts gone completely dormant?"

Sam rolled his eyes, stood there while Dean lifted the bottom of his T-shirt to see if he reopened his wound. "It was fine. I knew who they were and you weren't listening. If I would have gone inside that room, you would have blasted them. And yeah, Dean. These are my friends."

"They're demons, Sam."

"And I was in hell. I was getting my ass handed to me almost every day. Every day. By any demon and his cronies who thought they had something to prove to Satan. And these guys stepped in and stopped it, so I wasn't going to let you shoot first and ask questions later."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it and snapped his jaw shut. He looked at the figures around them. His entire view of good and evil was quickly grinding to dust. "All right. You're right. Just . . . give me a signal or something next time. Maybe we can paint red X's on 'em to tell good demons apart from bad demons." He laughed. "Good demons. This is so messed up."

"I know. I'm sorry," Sam said. "For what it's worth, thanks for trying to keep me safe."

Dean nodded, frowning. "Cronies?"

Sam smiled. "Shut up." He walked over to the slight demon, held out his hand, and said, "k_hosh amadid", _and the invisible barrier released and Sam and the demon gripped each other's forearms, genuinely pleased to see each other.

#

The hour was set. Do or die time. The next morning they went to the scorched field where Sam had emerged from Hell, the closest surface to where the Mark was issued. They made a motley assemblage. Three hunters, twenty or so demons, an angel . . . and one ginormous hellhound. Not in a million years would Dean have ever believed he'd be working with a group like this, but they all had one common bond between them. They all cared about Sam.

Dean swiped a hand over his eyes. His freaky younger brother, a magnet for all things . . . well, all things.

Sam, Traff and Casey had been busy all morning and into the late afternoon, spray-painting symbols around the blackened field. Gold and silver runes lay in stark contrast to the soot. They wouldn't let anyone else help them, demon or otherwise, saying they had to get the angles just right, the runes precise.

Imp whined at the outer edge where Dean had lined the perimeter with graveyard soil, a hopeful barrier against other hellhounds Lucifer was most certain to send after them. After Imp's large feet spoiled several of the freshly laid symbols, Sam had to lead the canine outside the circle. The other demons waited between the two circles of salt.

Dean glanced around the area, feeling exposed. They had layers upon layers of protection. Two circles of salt within the outline of cemetery soil. Another smaller circle of salt where Bobby and Dean would stand their ground nearest Sam was outlined with sigils and symbols of so many ancient civilizations it made Dean's head spin. As each one was laid down, Castiel had recited a running commentary. "Byzantine to ward off evil. Olmec, whispering spell. Greek. Moche. Caral Supe. Hittie. Islamic." Cas pointed out each one. "Tiahuanaco, darkness to light. I'm unfamiliar with these." The angel knelt beside a swirl of golden paint.

"They're certainly being thorough," Castiel said.

Dean frowned. "They're worried."

Castiel cocked his head, listening. "Ah. They've arrived."

"Demons?" Dean slid his gun from the back waistband of his jeans.

Cas pushed Dean's gun down. "No. My garrison."

A powerful whoosh of wind blew past. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look up. The demons shifted uncomfortably, worried glances passing between them. Suddenly men and woman stood among them at staggering intervals, at least fifty or more inside the circles—more scattered out across the blackened field. They stood silently in business suits all. It was a friggin _Men In Black_ convention. They only needed sunglasses to top it off. The tightest gathering surrounded Sam where at least ten angels were closing in around him. His brother's eyes were wide, darting around for a way out.

Dean rushed over to him, shouldering between the bodies. "Hey, now. Angels. Back off."

"They're merely curious." Castiel appeared within the group. "Samuel Winchester's name is sung from the highest spires of Heaven."

The angels began touching Sam, reaching out to finger his arms, his face, making the young man flinch. They moved in tighter, even as Dean tried to block them.

"Um, um, that's great, Cas," Sam said. "Can you make them stop?"

"It's time for a little group lecture about personal space," Dean muttered. "Cas."

Cas hitched up his authoritative tone. "Go. Go, now."

The angels stopped, faces stony and backed away several paces, but their eyes remained on Sam.

Sam tugged his shirt back in place. "Um, thanks." He grabbed Castiel's arm. "And thanks for asking them to come."

Castiel's eyes lifted in surprise, which was amazing since the angel's features rarely betrayed any emotion. "Did you believe Heaven wouldn't fight for you?"

His lips twitching downward, hands in his jean's pockets, Sam gave a small shake of his head.

Casey and Traff were just staring, their features banked in varying degrees of disgust.

"Sam . . ." Castiel moved to him, but was interrupted by a dark haired angel carrying a large cruet. Amber liquid sloshed inside as he handed it to Castiel. Castiel immediately handed it to Traff. "Your final ingredient."

The little demon took it eagerly. "Myrrh? How did you find so much?"

Castiel's eyebrows lowered. "We angels are not without our resources."

Sam's lips tugged up. Dean just rolled his eyes. "So this is the equivalent of a nerdy pissing match."

Casey bit her lip from smiling and took the cruet from Traff. "Come on, we're losing light. And fly-boy," she looked back at Castiel. "We're going to need you to drive in the stake."

TBC


	8. Rituals of Babylon

8 Rituals of Babylon

"You're aware that Lucifer will send everything he can pass out of Hell to stop this?" Castiel warned.

Dean nodded, watching Traff and Sam gauge the correct placement of the innermost symbols with the constellations now that the stars had come out. The moonlight chased shadows across Sam's lean features as he moved, double-checking everything and Dean was struck with just how grim his brother looked. He felt fairly grim himself. There was no right in this.

_Purged. _If the ritual worked, Sam would be free from Lucifer, but dead. If it didn't work, Sam would still die, but ripped back to Hell. Either way, he'd be gone. And in the off-chance, the very off-chance, that Sam somehow survived . . . Dean shook his head. Surviving as a burn victim wasn't pretty. He couldn't wish that for Sam.

Traff poured the amber liquid across the one little patch of untouched grass at the very center of the scorched field, coating it until the cruet was empty and the oil soaked into the ground. "We're ready."

Dean closed his eyes, unable to move, his heart shriveling to a small hard lump inside his chest.

"Dean?" Bobby came up behind him, his hand a light touch at the back of his neck. "Son. You have to walk over there right now for Sam. He's waiting and he's scared."

Dean looked at Bobby, saw the tears brimming inside the old man's eyes, which didn't help. Didn't help at all. He nodded tightly and together they made that first step.

Sam glanced up at them when they approached then quickly looked away. Dean recognized the way his chin kept twitching, the quick nervous blinks. Sam wasn't holding it together any better than he was.

Traff lifted up the bronze links, four lengths of chain riveted to a thick bronze stake as long as a man's leg. Each end had a shackle fastened to it with an eye and bolt. Dean had to admit Traff had been very specific about what they needed and uncanny at collecting the items. Bronze chains. They could have searched for those for weeks. The little demon handed Castiel the stake. "As deep as you can."

Castiel gave him a blank stare before kneeling and laying a palm over the grass. "There's a taproot below this spot. Very old. Very strong. It will hold." Lifting the stake above his head, he slammed it down into the earth where it disappeared, trailing several yards of the chains with it. When the chains stopped, he pulled up on them, testing the hold. "It's done."

A hush fell over the group. Nobody moved. Finally Casey went to Sam, pulled his face down to hers. She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. "Good luck, Sam." She pulled back. "I hope I never see you again."

He grinned, gave a small laugh. "Yeah. You too."

Smiling once more over her shoulder, she walked away to take up a position out in the field. Traff held his hand out and Sam took it, pulling the demon in for an embrace. "Thank you for everything."

Pulling back, Traff shrugged. "Hey, we had good times. "

"You going back?"

"Hell's all right for me."

Sam's eyebrows pulled together. "You . . ." He shook his head. "Don't ever change."

Traff 's grin grew huge. He waved Sam off. "See ya around, Winchester . . . or, hopefully not."

"Hey, Traff?" Sam called. "Look after Impala for me."

"Will do." Traff flicked a salute in the air and sauntered away.

Relatively alone with Bobby, Castiel and Dean, Sam looked at the ground, avoiding their gazes. Nobody knew what to say or do.

Finally Sam lowered to the ground and grabbed up one of the chains. The three men rushed forward, crouching, relieved to have something, anything little thing, to do that would help him.

Dean took the manacle from Sam's hands, grasped his brother's warm wrist. "Are these really necessary?"

Sam finally looked at him. "The Text was very specific."

"So. The Text could be wrong."

Sam flinched. "I hope it isn't."

Dean exhaled. "Sam, I didn't mean that."

His brother's hand curled around Dean's forearm. "I know. Just do it."

Heartsick, Dean slipped the metal over his brother's wrist, twisted the bolt tight all the while Sam's grip never left his arm.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. "The Hellhounds . . . they have an extra artery right under their jaws to the left. Slash in and chop down and it will take them right out."

"Okay. Good to know."

"And there's another way to take out Wendigos. Crushed myrtle. It's like poison to them."

Dean's head wrenched up. "What's with the Monster 101?"

"I just thought . . ." Sam looked down at the shackles on his wrists.

"Yeah." Dean got it, but at the moment he couldn't give a rat's nuts about Wendigos or Vampires or any of the monsters they hunted. He circled his hand over the metal on his brother's wrist. "Shouldn't we put material under these?"

"Dean." Sam gasped on a tiny laugh. "I don't think it will matter." He shifted, testing the movement of the chains Cas and Bobby had placed on his other wrist and ankles. The chains were long, had plenty of room and with the eye and bolt he could get out of them anytime he wanted. Getting out wasn't the point.

Dean swallowed, trying to work some moisture back into his throat.

"Hey, kid." Bobby pulled Sam into a tight embrace. "I . . ." and Bobby's voice gave out. He grabbed Sam tighter, holding on as though he could keep Sam there by sheer will alone. When he finally drew back, Bobby's face was devastated. Clutching Sam's face between his weathered palms, he patted the boy's cheeks before whirling to stand and walked a few feet away, back turned rigidly toward them.

Castiel extended his hand and Sam took it gratefully. "This isn't good bye."

Dean grunted. Yeah that was fair. Castiel could see Sam whenever he wanted, provided this ritual worked. Dean looked closer at the angel, realizing that was what Cas was offering Sam in his own professor-like way. Hope.

"These two," Cas nodded at two angels, pacing just outside of the Myrrh doused space. "They'll stand watch here, ready to escort your soul to Heaven the moment the Devil's Mark is gone." Cas's eyes drilled into him. "We won't tolerate Lucifer taking you again."

The liquid hope in Sam's eyes shredded the last bit of strength Dean had been grasping onto. Cas stood and stepped back.

Sam's gaze shifted to Dean. Dean clasped both of Sam's arms in his hands. He already felt a tear drizzle down his cheek. Tears were trailing down Sam's face as well.

Impala bellowed, a high-pitched bone-shattering howl. Angels and demons shifted around them, weapons lifting, faces alert.

Sam was suddenly pushing at Dean. "You need to get out of the circle.

Dean tightened his grip on Sam's arms. He shook his head. "I can't. I can't leave you."

Sam's features creased. "You have to."

"I just . . .I know that, but I just can't, Sammy."

He could see the panic begin to overtake Sam. His brother was more afraid for him than he was for himself. Well, that bitch ran a two-way street.

"Dean! I'm sorry. This is too much for you. Oh God, you have to go. You shouldn't be here, shouldn't have to go through this again." Sam was fully in panic mode, rambling now. "Dean, please. I can't do this like this. Not with you here. I'm going to die, but you . . . you can't."

"Then we go together." Dean was never more sure about anything. "If you have to die, then I'm going too. That's just the way it is."

Shouting erupted at the far edges of the field. A plume of fire shot into the sky and as quickly was gone. More bellows shrieked out. Hellhounds. Didn't matter. Dean was right where he was meant to ride the battle out. But his brother wasn't listening. Sam was shoving at him. "No, no, Dean. Get out of here. Cas! Zap Dean out of here!"

Dean whirled on the approaching angel, backing up. "Don't touch me, Cas. Don't you dare touch me! I'm staying here."

Cas looked at him with sympathy. "You need to guard this circle, Dean. It's imperative that nothing gets within the area blessed with Myrrh to disrupt the ritual. If that happens, one demon, one hellhound, and Lucifer will win. Nothing can enter this patch of soil once the ritual begins. Even you. Do you understand?"

He understood and he hated it. And hadn't this been exactly what he'd asked Castiel for just a night ago? "Okay. Okay, Sammy. I won't take away your chance of getting to Heaven." He threw his arms around his brother and held him, felt Sam crush against him, the clink of those damn chains tinkling together while the sound of hellhounds and demons and angels in battle rang around them. A javelin speared the ground a few yards away, wobbling in the charred soil and the brothers pulled back from their embrace, looked at it and then looked at each other. A friggin javelin.

"We're wasting time," Sam whispered. "I have to begin the ritual."

Dean's pulse banged in his throat. There was a low buzzing in his ears. His palms grasped Sam at his temples and leaning in close, Dean pressed his lips to his brother's head. It was the hardest thing Dean had ever done. It went against everything he'd ever been taught, every instinct, against who he was, the man he had become, but he got up and moved out of that circle. "I'm one step away, Sammy, just one step."

Sam nodded, looking miserable and small and alone and so vulnerable it took bracing every vertebrate in Dean's spine to not run back to him.

Bobby handed Dean his shotgun and he turned to find something—any ass ugly thing—to kill.

Suddenly they were upon him, the farthest salt line broken, and Dean and Bobby shot demon after demon that managed to plow up against the second line of salt.

"I'm out!" Bobby shouted and scooping up the duffle, Dean tossed him more rounds. He fired shot after shot, reloaded, flung every knife he had on him, grabbed up more, hoping the salt would hold, knowing there was no possible way it could with all the angels dashing through it. The angels were good, fought viciously, getting up close and personal to slam palms against foreheads. Flashes of light and black smoke poured out of bodies, dropping them limply to the blackened ground. The smoke swirled overhead, banging into the invisible barrier above the salt lines where Bobby and Dean blasted through the smoky funnels with salt rounds.

Behind him, through the noise and the smoke, he heard Sam chanting. " . . . _kalondariu strednigo na iiul po rosta lunnamu portivnaya ._ . ."

"What language is that?" Dean shouted at Bobby.

"It ain't Latin. Babylonian, I guess."

Dean shot another demon between the eyes. His one job, his one focus narrowed down to keeping whatever came at them away from Sam's circle.

" . . . gazprame otayha rossiu!"

A tremor ran through the ground. A low vibrating current pulsed across the air, making the hairs along Dean's arms stand on end. Tingles ran across his scalp.

A shaft of burning, coiling light lanced the earth, enveloping Sam in roaring blue and white flames that shot back up into the night sky. Sam was thrust off the ground, jerking to a hard stop against the chains, his body arched against the pull as the force of the star fire lifted him. Dean understood the purpose of the chains now. Without them Sam's body would be flung away.

Dean lunged toward his brother. _Sam's burning. Sam's burning._ But Castiel was there, shoving him back. Dean fought him. He didn't care. _Sam's burning. _

Castiel's arms were a solid barrier. "You can't help him."

"Let me go!"

Sam's face was fractured in agony, his mouth set in a scream that was snatched away in the noise of the blast. The demons howled around them. Hellhounds snarled, yelped. Dean made out the high wailing whine of Impala.

"So help me, Castiel—" The chain on Sam's ankle broke, the shackle melted away and Sam's leg flew up, the weight dragging against the other chains and the second ankle shackle loosed and both the young hunter's legs shot upward, the chains slapping around him. Horrified, Dean watched Sam's muscles bunch as he twisted his arms around the remaining chains, trying to anchor himself. "They're breaking! This isn't working!" Dean called out desperately, struggling with everything he had and suddenly Bobby was there at his back, pulling him away.

"No, Bobby! "

"You have to let this play through. Sam's already engulfed in flames! You have to let this finish!"

But he couldn't, he couldn't. No way could he leave his brother broiling in a tunnel of flames. Castiel suddenly lunged away, spinning to slap a palm against a demon who had broken through, slashing the neck and covering the mouth before the demon could escape until the host was unconscious or dead.

They'd breached the last line of salt. Shooting one glance at his struggling brother, Dean rolled into action, punching, gouging. It was down and dirty fighting now, maiming instead of killing, taking the hosts out without letting the demons escape into smoke form that could penetrate the star fire, disrupt the ritual, and let Lucifer rip Sam back to hell. The entire angel garrison seemed to have moved to the center of the fight, taking down demons at a staggering rate though they still came. Lucifer must have loosed an entire army on them.

He saw a demon escape his host, saw an angel dive into the smoke like a kamikaze, extinguishing both angel and demon in a concussion of light. God. The fighting became so close, Dean could barely maneuver through the press of angels. He lost sight of Bobby completely. And though the shaft of light continued to burn, Dean could no longer see Sam behind the wall of angels defending it, didn't know if Sam was still there or finally hurled away or dangling limp, dead, from the remaining chains.

A guttural snarl pierced the noise. Close, so very close. Dropping to a knee, Dean swiveled, slashing his blade upward, hitting beneath the hellhound's jaw right where Sam told him. He yanked the knife downward and the hound dispersed in a lightning flash of sparking mist.

A howl grated across the air and Dean turned to see demons and angels both flying as a beast plowed through them, heading straight for the blue and white shaft. "Impala, noooooo!"

He screamed, watched the hound take the final leap . . . and the fire roared, burned so white hot Dean flung up his arms, squinting through them, as the flaming spiral rolled up upon itself and stabbed back up into the sky, streaking across the darkness like a rising comet.

The battle stopped abruptly, all faces watching the flashing meteor in shock until it rose so far away it was no longer visible. Then the field erupted into shrieks and wailing as the demons poured out of their hosts, streaming away in whirling, slamming funnels of smoke. Bodies dropped to the ground around them.

Dean didn't care. He ran through them, shoved past the angels to get to that patch of ground Sam had been on, terrified at what he'd find . . . or wouldn't find.

He pushed between two broad shouldered suits and . . . oh God, Sammy.

He froze, his heart lodged in his throat. Sam was there, a crumbled figure lying on his side, his back to Dean. One arm, still shackled, was stretched limply behind him. He was naked, his clothing burned away and he was so still, so completely still.

Impala crawled forward on his belly, licking Sam's face, then distressed, inched back again, whimpering, tail pounding the ground nervously, and then the hound moved forward again as though the large canine didn't know what to do.

Without realizing it, Dean was moving forward, stepping onto the Myrrh-blessed grass, a sob clawing at the insides of his chest, screaming to rip out. He dropped next to his brother and Castiel appeared, draping his trench coat over Sam's hips.

Dean reached out to pull his brother's body into his arms, but Sam's skin burned him. Snatching his hands back, Dean noticed the faint steam drifting off of Sam. Unaffected, Castiel turned Sam onto his back. Sam's head rolled lifelessly to the side, his eyes closed, lashes fanned over his skin like dark smudges, his features so young and peaceful it was killing Dean. He wanted to just lie down and die next to Sam, screw the audience surrounding them, but he couldn't even touch him.

Castiel's palm fluttered over Sam's chest. "Dean."

Tearing his gaze away from his brother's face, Dean looked at Sam's torso, really looked. The hand print was gone. As well as the scars, all the ruined tissue reformed into smooth unblemished flesh. Dean smiled in spite of the heartache, tears streaming down his face. The kid did it. The ritual worked. Lucifer had no claim on him.

Traff and Casey emerged from the other side of the wall of angels. Casey knelt, took Sam's hand and gently removed the shackle.

"His skin is cooling. I believe it's safe for you to touch him now," Castiel said. "Dean. We need to revive him."

Dean's head wrenched up. His pulse banged through his veins.

"Do you have water in your bag?"

Water? He didn't even know where his bag was anymore. He couldn't process what the angel was talking about.

And there was Bobby, pushing through the mass, kneeling, blood running across the side of his face, his eyes going wide as he looked at Sam, but he cupped the back of the young man's head, lifting, and tipped his tin flask over Sam's mouth, spilling out water . . . and Sam's lips twitched. It was such an infinitesimal movement, it shouldn't have had the power to pull Dean back from the abyss.

"Sammy! Oh my God, Sammy!" And he was grabbing for him, pulling his head and shoulders up into his lap. "Come on, Sam. Oh please God, Sammy, wake up."

The eyelids starting lifting. Everyone seemed to suck in a collective breath, and finally, finally, so slowly Dean could have tracked a shadow by it, his brother's lids opened and those sharp hazel eyes locked onto him.

"Hey," Sam slurred. Dean wondered if he even knew where he was or what had just happened.

"Hey back." Dean's throat barely worked. He couldn't say anything more even if he knew what to say. Impala crept closer, putting his muzzle on Dean's knee. His breath stirred strands of hair off Sam's forehead.

"How did this happen?" Bobby whispered. "How did Sam survive that? How could anyone survive that?"

Castiel frowned. "Samuel Winchester has always been special. Even Heaven underestimated just how much."

"So . . ." Dean finally found his voice. "So, the Mark's completely gone. Lucifer has no more hold?"

Castiel stared at where Lucifer's hand print once covered Sam's sternum. "Your brother has been purged. It's probable that even the demon blood has been removed from his system."

Dean watched his brother's eyes slip closed again, watched the smooth chest lift and fall in a regular pattern now. It didn't matter to him whether the demon blood was gone or whether that was too much a part of Sam to separate out. He didn't care. He shifted Sam closer, wrapping his arms around the large shoulders and just held on.

The ground began to shake. The angels glanced uncertainly around, bracing their legs against the slight buckling of earth. Gasping, Sam's eyes jolted open and Lucifer's shriek boiled up, hissing through the ground, boring into every soul as it reverberated from the very bowels of hell.

TBC


	9. Can't Go Bac, Forward Ain't Bad

9 Can't Go Back, Forward Ain't Bad

Lisa handed Dean the satellite phone. "You call every night."

"Better make that morning. We'll tend to be occupied at night." Leaning on the front porch banister, Dean pulled Lisa in for a kiss. Damn, he loved her lips.

"Fine, but every morning." She wrapped her arms around his waist, placed her dark head over his heart. "I'm so glad you're back." She pulled away to look up into his face. "Really back. To the guy I first went crazy over. I missed him."

"Yeah. I did too." He looked up as Sam rounded the corner of the house, carrying Ben on his shoulders and didn't the sight just make strange little tingles kick around in his belly. He was turning into such a girl.

Sam swung Benjamin down and the boy ran up the steps to Dean. "I don't see why I can't go."

"Well, for one, there's school. We're going to be gone at least a month."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"And . . ." Dean leaned down to get face to face with the kid. "I'm counting on you to take care of your mom. I know you've been doing it for a long time before I came along and I'm trusting you to keep doing that."

"Of course I will, but Dean, I want to learn everything you guys know. I want to be a hunter." Dean's throat tightened, but he wasn't sure whether from pride or fear for the kid. He glanced briefly over at Sam.

"Don't worry about that." Dean placed his palms over the boy's shoulders. "No matter what you decide to be, a hunter, an engineer . . . " He felt Sam shift at his side. "Or even a big shot lawyer. You're going to know how to take care of anything that comes at you. Everything I know, Ben. I'll teach you everything I know."

The child's eyes lit up, looking at him just like Sammy used to. He met Lisa's gaze, knowing she hated that her son had to know these things. Hell, he hated it too, but after the changeling, she understood the importance. Her lips curved downward, but she didn't stop him.

"So." Dean straightened. "How do you take care of a werewolf?"

"Silver," Ben answered.

"Shape-shifter."

"Also silver."

"Striga?"

"Head shot while it feeds and you cut the heads off vampires."

Dean smiled. "Good. And what do you do every night?"

"Make sure none of the salt lines are disturbed. Check the placement of the hex bags and brush my teeth."

Dean patted his shoulder, but then pulled the boy in for a hug. "Good, Ben. That's real good." The child lifted his face, beaming up at him before sidling away, suddenly embarrassed.

"Hey, Ben," Sam took a knee beside the kid. "I'll teach you something right now. Say this word out loud." And Sam leaned in to whisper something in Ben's ear. Dean's brows rose, wondering what Sam was about.

Ben smiled so wide his dimples popped out. "Awesome!" He looked at Sam expectantly.

Sam nodded his encouragement.

" _Shoma!"_ Ben called, and the hellhound materialized out of the air.

"Impala!" Ben threw his arms against the hound, barely reaching the dog's shoulders and Imp turned, large tongue rasping across the kid's face.

Lisa had stepped back. "I hate it when he does that."

Sam pushed the canine's head toward him, leaning in for some attention of his own.

"Are you taking him with you?" Ben stroked the dark fur.

"No," Sam said. "He's staying here with you and your mom. Nothing will get past him. Nothing. But, um, maybe not always have him visible. You'll take care of him for me, won't you, Ben?"

The kid eagerly nodded and Sam drew him away to give him some more instructions regarding Imp.

Dean looked down, shuffling his feet. "You sure you're good with this?"

Lisa slid against him again. "What you do is important. Besides I'd rather have you this way, a few weeks, days, at a time . . . like you, the real you, happy . . . than here all the time miserable."

He kissed the top of her head, inhaled the strawberry scent of her shampoo. "You're one cool chick, you know that?"

"Uh-huh." Her mouth took his and he felt himself fall into her, tumbling down, down, down into a contentment he never thought he deserved before.

Sam cleared his throat. "Get a room you two."

Dean lifted his head from Lisa's, noting the goofy smile on his brother's face. Man, his Sammy, what a trip. The kid was freaky with happiness that Dean had a slice of the apple pie life.

Dean squeezed Lisa's arm and gave her a quick peck before walking down the steps. "Oh, I don't know, Sammy. You ought to try having a relationship, get you back out in the swing of things. Lisa has some friends . . . and with that new . . ."

Sam put a hand up. "I'm warning you. Not one more re-hymenated quip."

Catching up to him, Dean clapped one hand on Sam's shoulder. "I'm just saying . . ."

"Well, don't. Jerk." Sam went around to the other side of the Impala and climbed inside.

Dean stood there, hand on the shiny door handle, holding a smile he felt all the way to his bones. "Bitch," he whispered, pulling the door open and sliding into the driver's seat. "So, Sammy. When you were in the pit, learn any new ways to take out a ghoul?"

A slow grin crawled across Sam's features, taking forever to spark in the hazel eyes. "Ohhh, yeah."

"Well, lay it on me, brother."

Turning the key, the Impala rumbled to life, and Dean pulled her out into the street, the cassette left in the tape deck, blasting through the speakers. _" . . . All right now, baby it's a-all righ . . .ight now . . ."_

_FIN_


End file.
